Friday, February 13, 2004


Lyrics from a lost song by Frankie Noir: "I've had this shark attached to my ankle for such a very long time / Ever since I went swimming in the waters off the coast of my mind."

This past Wednesday I sank to new depths. When I was an undergraduate in Arlington and had to decide whether to pay my rent or to eat with the money I earned from my three part-time jobs, I developed the nasty habit of eating cold pasta sauce on crackers. But Wednesday I went beyond the abyss and had salsa and shredded cheese. And I ate it with a fork. Two helpings. God have mercy on my soul. Was it any coinky-dink that I had been working on my income taxes earlier this week? Necessity is a mother! ... and the Mother of Fine Cuisine. My friend Shayne said it sounded a bit too Sam Shepard for her, and she promptly hung up.

Again Bertolucci is caught with his pen, inking in the details of my own dirty mind. How did he know?!?! I've kept the plot of his latest film my dirty secret for almost as long as I can remember. (And yes, we're talking pre-natal, Baby.) The irony is that I'll have to travel far beyond my ZIP code--and even past the frontiers of my area code--to see my fantasy in full-blown celluloid majesty. The Dreamers opens in Austin on February 20th. (Brother and sister teams can find me there....)

Reading about our President's war for re-election has helped get that song "Fortunate Son" by Credence Clearwater Revival in my head all morning: "It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no senator's son...." (J. Fogerty). This election year is brought to you by the letter F and the number 19. Rest in peace, Uncle Frank (1946 - 1966).

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